


Vocalise

by senator_princess_general



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: Christmas, Gen, I know it's September this is an old fic let me live, Written by a shameless music major and ex-barista, post-hell night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senator_princess_general/pseuds/senator_princess_general
Summary: it's christmas day, logan wright! just a lil vignette.
Kudos: 5





	Vocalise

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I lost this fic years ago and lo and behold I found it lmfao. damn why did I write better back then?

“Hey, are you open?” the blonde asked, after he nudged the glass door open. The young man inside looked a little startled, poking his sweaty head out from behind the espresso machine.

“Uh, technically yes,” he said, picking up a towel to clean his hands, “well, as open as you can be for a coffee shop at 3 P.M. on Christmas Day with a broken espresso machine.”

“That’s fine,” Logan responded. He stepped inside the store, pulling the door closed behind him. It’s a cold day even for Manhattan in the winter, and Logan was desperate to step inside somewhere. “As long as you have heat.”

“Plenty of that,” the barista smiled. “Just no coffee.”

“That’s alright. I’m actually trying to cut down anyway.”

“What a shame. Coffee is the essence of life.”

Logan smirked and started to take off his outerwear to hang up. “Unfortunately, the opposite is true with the meds I just got a few weeks ago. I’m supposed to limit myself to a few cups a day.” He looked up at the barista with kind brown eyes. “And believe me, I needed those few cups this morning.”

“Ah, touché,” he responded. “Holidays can be stressful. That’s why I stayed open.” He paused and looked around at the coffee house, empty save for him and Logan. “Well, _tried_ to.”

Logan looked around the empty coffee house, which to him appeared to be like every non-chain café in New York: combination of exposed brick wall with a dark wood bar and tables juxtaposed against neon signs and hanging lights. Nothing special, but at least they were open. At least he could be alone. Funny how this was his first Christmas in years away from his friends and yet all he wanted to do was seclude himself. Julian was fast asleep in Paris, Derek was probably taking his little sister to see the new Star Wars movie, his father was _his father_ , and his father’s wife was already wine drunk for the afternoon. What else was he supposed to do?

Not to mention, his new meds are still in the process of kicking in, and Logan had been trying desperately to bring himself to take them every day. Sometimes, he felt like even if the universe depended on him taking his pill that day, he couldn’t, but he forced himself to. After his hell of a last year and pressure from his family and friends, it was about time he tried to take care of himself again, and for now, that meant taking his pills every day. Even if it meant little, sporadic brain shocks and midday nausea. This was for more than him. It was for the few people he cared about.

“Hey, can I play that?” Logan asked the barista, pointing at the dingy piano against the wall of the shop. He glanced at it earlier when he scanned the room, but he couldn’t help but think that it was more than decoration.

“Sure,” he replied. “It may be nice. No one really ever plays it. I don’t think they know they can.”

Logan approached it, plucked a few keys, and fingered some arpeggios. _Very_ flat. He could tell this thing hadn’t been touched properly in a while. He thought about how much of a shame that was. It’s a beautiful instrument, just needed some love. He sat gently and pulled the bench up to the piano. His long fingers perfectly sitting on c-sharp minor. Meditating on the keys, he sucked in a soft breath, and began to play.

Suddenly, the entire air changed. Logan played with such reverence, giving every dynamic and note affection. Logan had always believed that you should always make a piece yours, but only after respecting the love the composer put in to make it their’s. Medel taught him that. The old piano sounded almost archaic, like the sound he would hear on one of his mother’s old piano records, and it punctuated the longing nature of the piece. As the music ached, so did Logan.

“That’s beautiful,” the barista said, careful to not distract him. Logan gave a soft smile, even if the other man couldn’t see it. “Who are you thinking about?”

That took Logan off guard. “Uh, no one in particular,” he said, still playing. “Just… I’m thinking of everything at once.” He kept playing, only continuing to speak when the phrase he was playing came to a close. “I played this for my college auditions. I’m going to minor in piano.”

“It’s very vocal.”

  
“Rachmaninoff originally wrote it for the voice. It’s called _Vocalise_. This is just a piano arrangement.”

“Do you sing?”

“Not as much anymore. I haven’t really been inspired to since last year.” He paused again, trying to hold himself back from thinking about that anymore. His hands trembled a bit thinking about that time. The Art Hall, Mr. Harvey, Julian… _Not now._ He reminded himself to breathe again and tried to calm himself down, like how his new therapist told him to. _Not on Christmas_. “I lost a mentor about a year ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that,” the barista replied. “I won’t pry.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Logan’s playing started getting even more frantic, hurried and flimsy. Luckily, the piano was so out of tune he bet no one could really tell. “I only said that because I have become closer to my other mentor, who encouraged me to pursue this at all.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’m glad you are. Not enough people go into music anymore.” He stood, listening to Logan play for a few more minutes, taking it all in. Every key Logan pressed felt like an embrace, every chord a caress. It felt extremely intimate. It was only as soon as Logan held the final chord and let it echo through the shop that he felt compelled to speak again.

“Hey listen, I was going to close early to go home and see my family. It looks like I’ll have to call my espresso guy tomorrow to get this thing fixed early in the morning.” He looked at the blonde. “If you’d like, I’ll lock the shop from the outside, so you can stay here as long as you’d like.”  
  
“I’d like that. Thanks.” Logan smiled a little nervously. He felt as though he hadn’t been this vulnerable around anyone in the past year. His meds didn’t numb him anymore. The barista smiled back.

“Also, if you don’t mind, here is my card. Let me know if you ever need an escape next time you’re here. If we’re open, we can even set up a tip system for you when you play.”

Logan took it, smiled again. He felt so at home at the piano, even slightly broken ones like this, and this man extended genuine, unprompted kindness to him that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Yeah, I will.” He looked down at the card as the barista took his coat and keys from the back. “Happy Holidays, Theodore.”

“Happy Holidays. All things will pass." He smiled. "Keep in touch.”


End file.
